


The Year Without A Summer

by RudyRed34



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: British Politics, Gen, Natural Disasters, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RudyRed34/pseuds/RudyRed34
Summary: "They had survived winter in Russia; surely they could survive a chilly spring in England."The year 1816 has been called the year without a summer; throughout the Northern Hemisphere, unseasonable cold and rain led to massive crop failures and widespread hunger. On Tenzing Tharkay's estate in the Peaks district, Laurence and Temeraire worry about the well-being of their tenants; and, once elected to Parliament, Temeraire struggles to find a way to feed an entire nation of starving humans and dragons.Tags include characters who won't appear until later chapters. Relationship tags (e.g. platonic vs. romantic) might change/be added as I write.
Relationships: William Laurence & Temeraire, William Laurence & Tenzing Tharkay, William Laurence/Jane Roland
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

“Laurence?”

It took some time for Laurence to look up from the portable writing desk he’d set up in between Temeraire’s forelegs. “Yes, my dear?”

Temeraire considered carefully how to word his question, not wanting to offend Laurence’s patriotism. “I fully admit that it’s been many years since I’ve properly experienced an English springtime, but… they’re not  _ normally _ like this, are they?” He rolled his dark blue eyes up to examine the red oilcloth roof of his half-finished pavilion with trepidation; for the past three days it had thrummed with incessant rainfall, and he worried that it would begin to leak. Unfortunately, the rain that so harried the canvas roof also prevented any progress in constructing a permanent, more waterproof replacement.

Laurence sighed. “No, I should certainly say not. This spring has been exceptionally cold and wet, even by English standards.” He looked back at the papers on his desk, the fingers of his left hand tapping an agitated rhythm on the wood.

“May I ask what you’re working on?”

“Tenzing has set a maths problem upon me.”

“Oh!” Temeraire’s ruff briefly flared with interest. “Do read it aloud – perhaps I can help.”

Laurance snorted, though there was no humor in it. “I daresay even you can’t solve this one, my dear.”

“Well not if you insist on being jesuitical about the matter – please share it!”

“If one hundred percent of the tenants expect to lose at least fifty percent of this year’s crop,” Laurence said, gesturing at the papers – several brief letters, plus some of his own notes – arrayed before him, “how can we expect to collect the rents?”

His ruff flattening back against his neck, Temeraire lowered his head, tilting it in an attempt to read the tiny writing. “Fifty percent? However did they arrive at such a figure?”

“It’s been too cold and too wet to plant most anything,” Laurence said. “Of course, the tenants may be exaggerating their predictions of hardship in the hopes of concealing some of their yield from us – as they’re wont to do – but even so…” He nodded at the steady gray rain that fell beyond the pale limestone columns of the pavilion. “At least the sheep will be tolerably productive, as long as they don’t drown.”

Temeraire thumped his tail against the pavilion floor; the large brass braziers set to either side rattled. Fifty percent! That was simply intolerable. Even though Tharkay had warned that it might be several years until the new tenants got themselves properly established, if they already expected over half their fields to fail then perhaps Tharkay had chosen poorly from the pool of applicants. “Surely the tenants simply haven’t considered all their options. We should go and survey the holdings ourselves – Sipho read to me a bit from  _ A Complete Treatise on Agriculture _ , so no doubt I could share some Chinese techniques that would be useful.” He thumped his tail again, this time with satisfaction. Yes, a survey of the estate was just the thing. Though he appreciated the warmth of the pavilion against the unseasonable cold – enhanced by low walls along three sides, about ten feet high, that helped retain heat while still allowing him a view of the countryside – he was very much beginning to feel like a hatchling in its egg, cramped and bored and eager to break out.

Laurence made a gesture, as if to protest, but paused. “I suppose we don’t know when this rain will let up, do we?” he said instead. “Very well; if you would please wait for me to gather up my effects, we’ll head out presently.”

After Laurence had packed away his writing desk and fetched his leather riding coat, harness, and an oiled greatcoat from a chest kept in the corner of the pavilion, Temeraire fetched him up, hearing the familiar and welcome  _ clink _ of the carabiners fastening to his neck-chain. He surged out from the pavilion and was aloft with just a few massive wingbeats.

The rain wasn’t heavy – not much more than a persistent drizzle – but at flying speeds it pricked unpleasantly at Temeraire’s eyes and nose. “Are you all right, Laurence?” he asked, cocking his head to check on his passenger.

“Quite all right, thank you,” came the reply. Laurence had tucked his gloved hands inside the sleeves of his greatcoat, relying on his harness straps and his finely-honed sense of balance to stay in place. He also wore aviator’s goggles and a leather cap that completely covered his blond hair, giving him the appearance of a large beetle that had latched onto Temeraire’s scales. Satisfied, Temeraire veered to the southeast, where the tenant’s plots were concentrated.

Tharkay’s family estate was not overly large, so Temeraire was able to go at a leisurely pace, the better to inspect the lands below him. The creeks, already swollen from snowmelt, had completely burst their banks from the additional rain. The trees were still black and skeletal, with virtually no sign of new-budding leaves. As they reached the cultivated areas, he noted with some dismay the shiny pools of water that studded the fields. Some of the fields had been plowed and planted during previous brief respites from the rain, and sickly green sprouts peeked up from the silver puddles; others, too muddy to work the plow, had been abandoned partway through.

Geese and chickens squawked as he flew over each farmhouse, but there was no sign of people outside – understandably so, given the weather – until he finally noticed a familiar figure exiting one of the modest stone residences. It was Tharkay, bundled in a wide-brimmed hat and overcoat, shaking hands with one of his tenants: James Kayode, a short and slim man from the West Indies, one of many former slaves who’d managed to escape the islands and, thanks to the Slave Trade Act, could not legally be compelled to return. Temeraire called out a greeting and landed a respectful distance away, though Kayode’s mule still gave a peevish whinny from inside its barn.

“I should think I wasn’t gone so long as to require a search party,” Tharkay said as he approached; Kayode, having snatched a coat and scarf from beside the door of his house, followed some distance behind, his hands tucked into his armpits for warmth.

“Temeraire got a notion to survey the area,” Laurence explained as he and Tharkay clasped hands and patted each other’s shoulder affectionately. “Mr. Kayode,” he said, nodding and taking the man’s hand in turn. He gestured to the dry hollow that Temeraire had created with the bend of his wing, and the three men took shelter next to his flank; Temeraire rested his head on his foreleg, canted to the side so he could participate in the discussion. 

“Wanted to see the damage for yourself, eh?” Kayode said, half to Lawrence and half to Temeraire. Though he still had a slightly cautious air around dragons, he had so far never evidenced any fear or hesitation, and he did not need to be reminded to address Temeraire directly in conversation, instead of solely speaking to Lawrence – which was more than could be said about many Englishmen, unfortunately, even with Temeraire’s status as a war hero.

“I was thinking perhaps you could try planting rice instead of wheat,” Temeraire said. The idea had come to him on the flight over; the flooded fields had reminded him of the paddies that dominated much of China.

Kayode had a thoughtful, faraway look for a moment, then shook his head. “We grew a bit of rice on the plantation in Barbados, for us to eat,” he said. “It needs more than water – it needs heat. And even during a normal spring I doubt England has enough of it.”

Temeraire gave a disgruntled huff, but the large cloud formed by his breath only strengthened Kayode’s argument. He offered a few more suggestions based on what he’d read in the  _ Complete Treatise _ – although, admittedly, he had not read the  _ whole _ thing because it was so very long, but farming did not seem all that difficult to him, since it was mostly just variations on putting seeds in the ground and giving them a bit of water – but Kayode shot each one of them down in the most respectful and reasonable of tones, explaining that either he was already implementing that method or it simply wasn’t appropriate to the climate. Finally, Temeraire asked, “If this is truly the best we can expect, then how will you get enough to eat?”

A pall fell over the group. After a moment’s silence, Tharkay said, “Surely you don’t consider me so heartless a landlord that I’d let my tenants starve for reasons beyond their control.”

“What! No, of course not,” Temeraire cried, appalled.

Laurance patted Temeraire’s flank. “Never fear, Temeraire. We may not be in the clover this year, but we knew going into this endeavor that it wouldn’t be easy, and we’re well-equipped to overcome any short-term difficulties.” Temeraire was reminded of both his and Laurence’s captial and was comforted. Of course – if they couldn’t grow their own food, they could simply use their funds to buy it from elsewhere. How silly of him to forget such an obvious solution!

Kayode touched his hat, saying, “If you’ll excuse me, sirs, I should return to the house before Mrs. Kayode accuses me of attempting to shirk my share of today’s duties.”

“Of course. Thank you for indulging us with your time,” Laurence said, and they shook hands again before Kayode hurried through the rain to his front door.

“Would you like me to carry you home?” Temeraire asked Tharkay.

“As much as I enjoy slogging through the cold, rain, and mud, a quick flight home would be much appreciated, thank you.”

“Could you carry me in your talons as well, Temeraire?” Laurence said. “There are a few matters I’d like to discuss with Tenzing.”

Dutifully, Temeraire gathered them up and, holding them close to his chest, sprang into the air. He couldn’t quite make out everything they said over the rush and hiss of the wind and rain, but from what he could discern they were still concerned over the unseasonable weather. Their fears seemed somewhat overblown, in his opinion; the constant chill and frequent rain was unpleasant, no doubt, and it was very annoying that it had stalled the construction of his pavilion, but as long as they had their investments in the Funds they would be able to care for themselves and their tenants, whom Temeraire had already begun to think of as _ his people _ . They had survived winter in Russia; surely they could survive a chilly spring in England.


	2. Chapter 2

Standing by the fireplace, Laurence warmed his hands over the flames as Tharkay fetched some tea from the sideboard. He and Temeraire had spent the morning canvassing the borough for voters – a fruitless endeavor, as thus far they had not encountered a single other dragon. While Temeraire was insistent on continuing his campaigning, eventually Laurence had convinced him to drop him off at the manor house to warm up. After all, Laurence had reasoned, if Temeraire did get elected to Parliament (a prospect that seemed increasingly likely, as he appeared to be both the only candidate and the only voter in the entire borough), his political duties would inevitably force them to spend at least some time apart. This fact apparently had not occurred to Temeraire before, and seemed to almost make him reconsider a career in politics altogether, much to Laurence’s chagrin. Finally, though, Temeraire’s sense of civic duty to dragonkind won out, and he’d deposited Laurence back at the house with many assurances that he would be back before dark.

“I wonder if the Tories realize they’ve effectively handed a seat on a silver platter to the most infamously radical dragon in England,” Tharkay mused as he handed a ceramic cup and saucer to Laurence.

“Doubtful,” Laurence said. “Though even if they did know, I’m not sure what they could do about it.”

“Never underestimate the ability of those in power to manipulate the rules to their own advantage,” Tharkay replied, raising his cup in an ironic toast. Laurence returned the salute and took a grateful sip of tea, savoring the warmth that crept down his throat to his belly. The two stood in companionable silence by the hearth for some time, absorbed in their own thoughts; Laurence, for his part, found himself overcome with a mixture of guilt and regret over Temeraire’s political ambitions. He keenly recalled the pain he’d inflicted on Temeraire when he’d suggested, in China, that they go their separate ways; was this simply a repeat of that offense on a smaller scale? He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could give shape to his concerns, Tharkay said, “I don’t suppose we’d be any worse off if my beloved cousin had salted the earth before his departure.”

Ah. He was still troubled by the state of his holdings, then. Though Laurence had received advanced warning, he’d still been taken aback by how thoroughly Tharkay’s family had stripped the estates when they learned they’d be forced to relinquish ownership: all the herds sold off, forcing Tharkay to make a considerable investment to buy fresh livestock; several strands of trees clear-cut for their timber, though thankfully not all of them; the coal mine allowed to flood, which he hadn’t yet managed to remedy thanks to the excessive rain. “It’s an inauspicious start, to be sure,” Laurence said with a sigh. “But if there’s one thing that I’ve learned about you, Tenzing, it’s that you have an uncanny knack for beating even the worst odds.”

Tharkay gave Laurence a sidelong glance and allowed himself a smile. “And you have an uncanny knack for making inspirational speeches, Will,” he said. He took another sip of tea; his pinkie, which had never set properly after being broken, stuck out at an odd angle.

“I hope you don’t think me the cat’s uncle,” Laurence pressed on. “Between your inheritance and what Temeraire and I have socked away, we should have more than enough to adequately invest in this place.”

“I’d be a poor host to require financial contributions from my guests.”

“You’re not requiring it; it’s a gift freely given.” Glancing out the sitting-room window at the pale hulk of Temeraire’s pavilion, Laurence silently added that they weren’t quite guests, anyway.

Tharkay followed his gaze and chuckled as he interpreted Laurence’s thoughts. He went to the window to get a better look at the workers crawling over the stone; the window was small compared to modern tastes, the manor house having been first constructed in the Tudor era. “At least it stopped raining,” he said, which was true, but the skies were still clouded over, and the sitting room – all dark wood paneling – was shrouded in gloom more fitting to twilight than midday.

“I’m glad you’re finally giving optimism a chance.”

This time Tharkay laughed full-throatedly – only to be interrupted by a roar that rattled the many diamond panes of the window, and before it had died away Laurence was already out the door, heedless of his teacup shattering on the hearthstone. Outside the house, hatless, he drew up short and scanned the horizon for some clue as to Temeraire’s location. “It was to the southeast,” Tharkay said, having joined him in the yard. “Coutts, fetch our pistols. Norris - the horses, please, and make sure they’re hooded.” The servants, having frozen in place like hares at the sound of an angry predator, shook themselves from their reverie and hurried to the house and the stable, respectively.

The horses were already shrieking with terror; it would take time for Norris to calm them enough to saddle and hood them – too much time, damn it all. Laurence was about to set out on foot, but then a sinewy black figure sprang into the air and winged swiftly towards them. Temeraire was alone, Laurence was relieved to see, with no strange dragons pursuing him, but that relief curdled into confusion and concern over what could have so enraged him. Laurence squinted, wishing he had his glass; he could tell from the lash of Temeraire’s tail that he was truly agitated, and it looked like he was holding something – someone – in his talons.

Tharkay put a hand on Laurence’s shoulder and wordlessly handed him one of the pistols Coutts had brought; it was already loaded. A few moments later, Temeraire landed in front of the house and revealed the contents of his talons: three shabby-looking men, whom he roughly dropped in a heap to the earth. Before they could regain their feet, he’d planted his foreclaws on either side of them, and they cowered before him. “These, these –  _ scoundrels _ – ” he said, choking on his own rage, “were attempting to rob Mr. and Mrs. Kayode!” The tendrils on his snout quivered, and he convulsively dug furrows into the earth with his foreclaws; the would-be bandits whimpered. 

Anger flared hot through Laurence, and it took him a moment to tamp it back down. “Are the Kayodes harmed at all?” he asked, keeping his voice as even as possible; no need to rile Temeraire up any more than he was already.

“We only knocked ‘em about a bit,” one of the men, red-haired with thick streaks of gray and similarly mottled stubble, protested. “We weren’t plannin’ to kill ‘em, honest – ”

“I  _ suggest _ , sir,” Laurence interrupted in a powerful, steel-hard voice honed through years of command, “that you keep your mouth shut, unless you wish to test just how thin a dragon’s patience can be worn.” The bandit saw wisdom and fell silent; his compatriots shot him frightened, angry glares. 

Tharkay tucked his pistol into the waistband of his trousers. “I’ll go with Norris to the Kayode residence,” he said, his voice low and hard with the same anger Laurence felt.

“What do you want done with them? Technically you’re the one they wronged, as they’re on your land.”

Tharkay’s dark eyes flashed. “Do as you will; I trust your judgment.” He stalked to the stable without sparing a glance at the three men.

As Tharkay and Norris rode off, their horses straining eagerly to be away from the dragon, Laurence took a closer look at the three ruffians. They were in a sorry state: their shoes were worn through the soles, their coats threadbare and clearly inadequate against the cold. Additionally, they all had the drawn, harried look of people who hadn’t known a regular meal in some time. He sighed, his nostrils flaring. “Temeraire, watch them while I get my harness; we shall take them to the magistrate.”

“Please, sir,” another man – younger than the first, probably not much more than eighteen – pleaded, “we won’t do it again, we promise, only if you’ll let us go. We were just looking for something to buy food with – ”

“As  _ if _ I would let you go after you hurt the Kayodes!” Temeraire huffed.

“I have no doubt you won’t come back  _ here _ , now that you know who resides here,” Laurence said, for Temeraire’s benefit as much as the ruffians’, “but that means you’ll just inflict yourself on some poor household that doesn’t have the privilege of a dragon’s protection. No,” he continued, forestalling any further protests, “if you are hungry, you will at least receive regular meals while in the magistrate’s custody.”

By the time he’d donned his flying gear and rejoined Temeraire, Laurence’s temper had cooled. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the pitiful figures huddled beneath Temeraire’s angry gaze, and he was grateful that Temeraire had maintained enough self-restraint to refrain from squashing them, as much as he clearly wished to. “The magistrate’s office is due west of here,” he instructed as he latched his carabiners; Temeraire snatched up the offenders (none too gently) and heaved into the air. He was virtually trembling with agitation as he flew, and Laurence put a hand on his outstretched neck to calm him, surprised that he had already formed such a strong attachment to the Kayodes.

The shortcomings of the Incan dragons’ philosophy were now stark; Laurence had seen the terrible violence a heavyweight dragon could wreak upon seeing his captain injured, and extending that possessiveness to more people just increased the opportunities for Temeraire to be provoked. Laurence had supposed that perhaps “claiming” more people would dilute the intensity of emotion a dragon held for each individual person claimed, but – in Temeraire’s case, at least – that turned out to not necessarily be the case. Whether that would make him an exceptional politician or a horrible one, Laurence had no idea, and he slightly dreaded the inevitability of finding out.

The magistrate, Mr. Charles Bain, was not at his office that day, so they were obliged to find him at his country home. He came striding from his house red-faced and flustered, although he addressed Temeraire and Laurence with all the respect that he knew was their due. “These three attacked our tenants and should be locked up immediately,” Temeraire insisted, glowering at his captives. “Or perhaps you should transport them to Australia, so they cannot hurt our people anymore.”

“That is for Mr. Bain to decide,” Laurence said, keeping a calming hand on Temeraire’s hide. He couldn’t help but notice Temeraire’s repeated use of the word  _ our; _ at least he was no longer on the verge of rending the robbers to pieces. “Let’s not presume to do his job for him.”

“Quite – quite right,” Bain said. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from his tall brow, despite the cold. “Forgive me, gentlemen, I didn’t quite follow. You said these men attacked…?”

“They attempted to rob Mr. and Mrs. Kayode, tenants of Mr. Tharkay,” Laurence explained in more measured tones. “Fortunately, Temeraire happened to be flying overhead and caught them in the act.”

“I see.” Bain peered at the miserable-looking fellows sitting on the ground between Temeraire’s foreclaws. “Well, we shall detain them in the barn tonight and bring them to the gaol tomorrow.” He gestured to two of his servants, stout men no doubt hired with an eye for exactly this kind of situation. As they trundled the prisoners off to the barn, he bowed to Laurence and Temeraire, saying, “Thank you for your service, gentlemen. It is heartening to see men – and dragons – such as yourselves setting such an example for civic duty and responsibility.” Laurence found this speech rather exorbitant, but Temeraire drew up his head and flared his ruff with pride. Bain continued, “The petty session is next week; Mr. Tharkay will be receiving a notice presently, requesting his presence to testify on behalf of his tenants. Mr. – ah – Temeraire…” here he hesitated, unsure if he’d committed some breach of etiquette for addressing a dragon, “Temeraire, you may be requested to the petty session as well, as you were witness to the attempted robbery.” 

“It would be my pleasure,” Temeraire said in a magnificent tone.

They soon took their leave; Bain offered to set up a table in his garden so both Laurence and Temeraire could have some tea, but Laurence, already feeling the chill through his leather flight jacket and feeling his mood begin to darken, graciously declined. As they winged back to Tharkay’s estate, they were silent for several minutes. Finally, Temeraire remarked, “I can’t believe they had the gall to attack the Kayodes, who have never bothered anyone!”

“Desperate times make criminals of us all,” Laurence remarked.

Temeraire shot a concerned glance back at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

Apparently his disposition was more transparent than he realized. “I mean those men were hungry. Not everyone is blessed with the resources we have; they felt stealing was their best option for getting the money they needed for food.”

“Do you mean we should have just let them go?” Temeraire asked, flattening his ruff against his neck.

“No, no – do not mistake me, my dear,” Laurence assured him. “Hunger does not  _ excuse _ violence, but it does  _ explain _ it, at least in this case. We can pity those men while at the same time holding them accountable for their crimes.”

Temeraire returned his gaze to the landscape before them and was silent for several wingbeats. “Like the ferals in Russia,” he finally said, quietly.

“Like the ferals in Russia.”

“But surely those men were not in such dire straits as  _ that. _ ”

“I would say not. But men – like dragons – have different breaking points, depending on their constitution.”

“Yes, I have noticed that,” Temeraire said thoughtfully. Then he was quiet for some time more.

They detoured to the Kayode homestead; by that point, Tharkay had already left, and most of the mess had already been cleaned up, though some of their belongings had been damaged beyond immediate repair. Kayode assured Laurence that Tharkay had already sent for a carpenter to repair that which could be fixed, and would purchase replacements for that which could not. One of his eyes was swollen nearly shut, and he had a bad cut on his lip, Laurence noted grimly; Mrs. Kayode likewise had bruises blooming on her light brown forearms, and the pendulum of Laurence’s sympathies swung sharply away from the men currently awaiting Bain’s justice.

Outside the house, the ground bore testament to Temeraire’s earlier rage; he had apparently come upon the robbers as they fled with armloads of loot, and he’d pounced upon them like a vengeful bird of prey. Laurence spotted a flash of vermillion amid the mud and torn-up grass: one of Mrs. Kayode’s kerchiefs, which she tied in flamboyant knots over her hair. He retrieved it and brushed off the dirt as best he could before returning it to her. “Well, we shall see if it is salvageable,” she said as she examined the soiled silk with a rueful smile, a French accent softening her consonants.

“If there is any other way Temeraire or I can be of service, please let us know. I’m sure he will be checking in on you regularly,” Laurence said.

“Of that I have no doubt.”

Temeraire remained quiet on the flight back to his pavilion. Upon dismounting, Laurence asked, “Is something troubling you, dear?”

“Nothing – only everything that has happened today.” Temeraire rested his head on his forelegs with a morose expression.

“It was an unpleasant business, wasn’t it?” Laurence said, stroking Temeraire’s nose. The whole thing had left him in a vaguely foul mood as well. It was almost worse, he thought, when you understood  _ why _ a violent deed was performed; then you couldn’t simply dismiss it as barbarism and likewise write off the perpetrator as something easily hated and shunned.

“It has certainly given me a lot to think about, should I become an MP.”

“Oh?” This was not a turn Laurence had expected the conversation to take. Up to this point he had almost taken the attitude of a father or older brother providing comfort to a young boy upon witnessing his first act of cruelty and asking why evil existed in the world. After all, Temeraire was only twelve years old. And yet – comparing a twelve-year-old human to such a remarkable creature as him was ridiculous, especially when considering that he had already seen much of the worst aspects of humanity. Laurence supposed it would be twelve more years before he finally got used to the whiplash between Temeraire’s jejune and worldly natures.

“Yes, I was thinking about what you said, about how different men have different breaking points,” Temeraire was saying. “It seems to me that for most that breaking point is about middling, as far as hardship goes. The logical conclusion is to ensure most men stay above that middling point. Then most men will behave themselves just fine.”

Oh dear. “And how would you propose ensuring that?”

“That is what I have yet to figure out.”

“I will be curious to hear what you come up with.” Laurence patted Temeraire’s nose. “Shall I go inside and ask Mrs. Payton to bring out the venison she was stewing this morning?”

“Yes, please, I’d like that very much. And perhaps you could read some more from that new Wordsworth piece, as well?”

“Of course.”

As Laurence made his way back to the house, where he could see a few candles already lit against the early gloom, a fine rain began to fall once again.


	3. Chapter 3

The petty session turned out to be not nearly as interesting as Temeraire had hoped. The magistrate’s office was, unsurprisingly, much too small to accommodate him, so he was obliged to crouch outside – careful not to damage any of the neighboring buildings – and peer through an open window to observe the proceedings. The attempted robbery of Mr. and Mrs. Kayode was far from the only case on Bain’s docket that day; indeed, it was only one of four robberies awaiting his adjudication, along with several instances of public drunkenness, a half-dozen cases of petty theft, a handful of regular brawls, and one quarrel between neighbors that Temeraire couldn’t quite follow – something about chopping down a fruit tree that shouldn’t have been chopped down, or  _ not _ chopping it down when it should have been, he wasn’t sure which.

When it was Tharkay’s turn to speak on behalf of his tenants, Temeraire fluttered his wings with excitement; finally, he would get to participate in Government! But then Tharkay was finished enumerating his accusations, and Bain asked the men (Taggart the Senior, Taggart the Junior, and Cokes) if they refuted the charges against them, and they said they did not, only they were hungry and desperate and destitute and begged the mercy of the court. Bain banged his gavel, sentencing the lot of them to six months in gaol – and that, apparently, was it.

As the three men were being led out of the courtroom, Temeraire found he could remain silent no longer. “Excuse me, Mr. Bain, sir, I have a question, if I may,” he said. Several of the people waiting in the gallery, plaintiffs and defendants alike, started at his voice; all turned to look at him, including Tharkay and Laurence, who had accompanied them to town. He had a very odd expression on his face, one that Temeraire couldn’t interpret immediately.

“Yes, Mr. Temeraire?” Apparently Bain had settled on using the honorific for dragons, too.

“How will you ensure that these men will not take up robbing again once they leave gaol?”

Bain smiled thinly; a bead of sweat crept out from beneath his judicial wig. “They will remember the hardship and discomfort that they experienced as punishment for their crime and, not wishing to experience it again, will refrain from further attempts at robbery. That is why we punish crime in the first place.”

Temeraire huffed impatiently, sending the window curtains aflutter. “Yes, I understand that. But Misters Taggart, Taggart, and Cokes said they robbed because they were hungry; presumably, if they go hungry again upon leaving the gaol, they’ll be enticed to rob again. What provisions are in place to ensure they do not go hungry?”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, though Temeraire did not see what was so unusual about his question. Bain had stopped smiling. “There are, of course, workhouses in place to assist the destitute,” he said, “to which the convicted can turn without resorting to violence. Have I sufficiently answered your questions, Mr. Temeraire?”

He had not, but Temeraire noticed that Laurence was going red-faced and decided to save his questions for later. “Yes, thank you.” Although Bain continued with the next case almost immediately, it took several minutes for everyone in the gallery to turn their attention away from Temeraire. Tharkay, an amused expression on his face, leaned over and muttered something in Laurence’s ear, too softly for Temeraire to make out over the general low hubbub of the crowd.

Some time later, the session ended, and Temeraire had to shift aside so he was no longer crowding the front door of the office as everyone filed out. Many people seemed reluctant to pass by him and scurried away as quickly as they could manage while maintaining their dignity; others gazed up at him with open, wordless awe for so long he shuffled his wings uncomfortably. One woman, wearing a blue capelet and a felt muff against the cold, strode right up to him with the confidence that only youth can bestow, shaking off the restraining hand of her older companion, who hung back uncertainly. “I much appreciate your presence here, Mr. Temeraire,” she said in a clear, bell-like voice. “When  _ you _ ask the difficult but necessary questions, you can’t be ignored or brushed aside.”

“Well, I suppose a dragon as large as I am is hard to ignore in general,” Temeraire said, to which the young woman laughed, though he wasn’t making a joke. “Have you raised the connexion between hunger and crime before?”

“Yes, multiple times, but Mr. Bain isn’t interested in the opinions of a silly girl.” She held out her hand, out of habit, then realized Temeraire would not be able to shake it. Embarrassed, she flexed her fingers before making a small curtsy. “My name is Lucia Blythe; my father is the milliner in town.” Indeed, the capote bonnet she wore was trimmed most handsomely with a thick satin ribbon that even in the overcast light had a rich sheen.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Blythe.” Temeraire nodded his head in greeting.

Reaching into her muff, Miss Blythe retrieved a carefully folded pamphlet, which she held up for Temeraire’s examination, unaware that the type was too small for him to read. “I am a member of the Society for Advocating on Behalf of the Poor, as is Mrs. Potter,” she said, referring to her chaperone, who stood in mortified silence to one side, “and I think your concerns and ours are in alignment. If you are so inclined, here is our statement of purpose, which you can review at your leisure.”

“You can give it to Laurence, if you please – Laurence, Tharkay, this is Miss Blythe.”

Laurence took the pamphlet offered to him before he fully comprehended what was going on, having only just joined the conversation. He glanced down at the cover and his eyebrows rose as he read it. “Ah. A pleasure, Miss Blythe,” he said, tucking it into his waistcoat before taking her hand in greeting, as did Tharkay. They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, with Miss Blythe taking a particular interest in Laurence’s military service, though he inexplicably demurred on many of her questions. Temeraire suppressed the urge to tell the full story of his accomplishments on his behalf; he’d learned by now that Laurence was rather bashful about being called a hero, and though it made no sense to him he respected his captain’s peculiarities. After a time, Laurence looked to Temeraire and said, “I think perhaps we should be off, dear. You’ve caused enough fuss for one day.”

“I hardly think I’ve caused any fuss at all,” Temeraire sniffed. But it was rather chilly, and he already missed the charcoal braziers of his pavilion. They said their good-byes to Miss Blythe and Mrs. Potter, and, once Laurence and Tharkay had clipped in, Temeraire lept aloft, knocking off the hats of several unsuspecting gentlemen with his downdraft.

“Not even an MP yet and already forming an alliance with bluestockings,” Tharkay remarked as they winged home. “The Tories are  _ really _ going to love you.”

“I don’t see what the color of Miss Blythe’s stockings had to do with anything; she seemed quite sensible,” Temeraire replied.

Laurence laughed and patted Temeraire’s neck. “A bluestocking is a particular kind of woman with particular kinds of opinions. But you are correct, Miss Blythe did seem quite sensible. I’ll read her pamphlet to you over supper.”

Not only did he read Miss Blythe’s pamphlet; Laurence – along with Tharkay, who elected to join them for supper in the pavilion – explained several key points of context that were required to fully understand the source of the Society for Advocating on Behalf of the Poor’s grievances. Not for the first time, Temeraire was grateful for Tharkay’s presence, especially his willingness to bluntly expose an issue where Laurence’s instinct was to politely equivocate. While Temeraire got the impression that Tharkay had his own prejudices that he was unwilling or unable to see past, at least Temeraire had enough information to chew over for the next several days, during which he was mostly cooped up from the renewed rain that spilled from the steel-gray clouds.

During the thin light of dawn one early morning – long before Mrs. Payton and her assistant had brought out his breakfast of mutton porridge – Temeraire peeked his head out from his pavilion and cast an appraising eye skyward. The rain had stopped overnight, and the clouds had thinned enough that Temeraire was confident he’d get at least a few hours’ worth of dry flight time. He glanced up at the manor house; only a few windows were illuminated, none of them from Laurence’s room. Normally Laurence was an early riser, a habit that Temeraire had picked up as well, but last night Tharkay had hosted a dinner party (even though neither he nor Laurance seemed enthusiastic about it; he had called it “a necessary evil to convince the neighbors I’m not a barbarian usurper,”) and by the time Temeraire had dozed off the house had still been ablaze with candlelight. No doubt Laurence would be late getting out of bed this morning.

Temeraire assessed the sky once more, torn between his desires to wait for Laurence and to take advantage of this brief respite from the rain. If he were quick about it, he could make a circuit of the estate and be back before breakfast, he reasoned – and besides, he needed to check up on the tenants to make sure no one had accosted them in the night. With one final glance at Laurence’s windows – still dark – he took flight, bearing southeast. By now the trees had acquired their leaves, though they were pale and sickly, and it was easy to spot the puffy sheep that huddled beneath them in an attempt to hide from him. Similarly, the planted fields were stunted from cold and were still more black dirt than green crops. One by one, he flew low over the farmhouses, looking for signs of disturbance: the Allens, the Fosters, Misses McKenna and Wallis, the Kayodes. All was quiet; even the chickens and ducks made less of a ruckus, having become somewhat acclimated to his regular patrols.

He swung north and west, towards where the lands were left unworked for the deer and grouse to graze, save for a coal mine that sat abandoned until Tharkay could raise the capital to bring it back into working order. Some fresh venison would perhaps revive Laurence after last night’s exertions, he thought. This part of the estate was mostly open moorland, with modest clusters of trees clinging to the banks of the streams that cut through the rolling landscape. Hunting wasn’t easy here; while the lack of tree cover made it easy to spot deer from a distance, of course that meant they could spot him, too, and hence dart into one of the deep ravines that threaded through the area before he could reach them. Temeraire had worked out a strategy of flying so low that his wingtips practically brushed the tops of the heather on the downbeat, counting on the elevation to obscure him from the view of some unlucky deer browsing on the far side of a hill. Of course, he also wouldn’t spot said deer until he was right on top of them, but generally he was quicker to react to the sudden meeting than they were.

Which is to say, when he stumbled upon the small group of three dragons and the remnants of the deer herd they’d decimated, they were equally surprised.

Temeraire made a startled noise – certainly not a squawk, for a dragon of his stature did not  _ squawk _ – and pulled up sharply, his tail slapping a large dent in the sodden earth as he did so. The dragons, for their part, crouched low to the ground and hissed at him, unwilling to take to the air when he had the advantage in both size and altitude.

“What are you doing here?” Temeraire asked as he hovered over them. “This isn’t your territory.”

“We found them first!” One of the dragons, gray with mossy green blazes running over her shoulders and down her back, ruffled her wings defiantly. “So they are ours. You cannot have them.” He recognized her accent – it was the same as Ricarlee’s. 

“I don’t want your scraps, anyway,” Temeraire huffed. He alighted atop the ridge that had sheltered them from view. “What are you doing all the way down here? Shouldn’t you be up in Scotland?”

“There aren’t any more deer up there,” the female feral retorted. “And the humans won’t let us have any of their sheep, so we had to come down here.”

After a bit more questioning, the female feral – named Peigi – explained that a group of unharnessed dragons had formed into an alliance, of sorts, with many of the Scottish farmers: they would drive off any hungry ferals that threatened the farmers’ livestock in exchange for regular meals. The dragons were quite jealous of their arrangement, and no amount of cajoling could convince them to accept new members into their ranks; a good portion of Scottish farmland was now effectively under their control, and the majority of feral dragons were left to scrounge what they could of the already-depleted game stock.

On its face, Temeraire could find little to criticize about the alliance; after all, was it not his goal to have dragons participate in the economy alongside humans? But if the result was an influx of hungry dragons into  _ his _ territory, eating  _ his _ deer – well! That was simply not a tenable situation. (A small part of Temeraire was compelled to admit that, technically, this was Tharkay’s territory and these Tharkay’s deer, but Tharkay was his, too, was he not?) He tapped his talons on the limestone ridge as he thought. Driving the dragons out would simply lead to them causing trouble somewhere else; even for ferals, these three were underweight, and they’d already shown they had no compunction about taking food from someone else’s property. Better to keep them under his supervision, where he could make them behave. “Well, I suppose there is no sense in lolling about on the moor – let’s go to my pavilion so we can discuss things where it’s dry and warm,” he said, although the ferals would not agree to follow until he allowed them to take the remnants of their deer with them; they snatched the bloody carcasses up in their claws as they fell into a ragged line behind him.

Temeraire could only imagine what a frightful sight they made as they returned to the pavilion, and it was with great trepidation that he saw Laurence and Tharkay waiting for him already, taking his breakfast next to the cauldron of mutton porridge that Mrs. Payton had set out. Maintaining as much of an air of nonchalance as he could, Temeraire landed and said, “Laurence, Tharkay, I’d like you to meet Peigi, Tess, and Arridan.”

Laurence’s face was pale and his lips thin as he regarded the three dragons, who sat a suspicious distance away; they had not expected to be met by humans. “I didn’t know we were having guests,” he said at last. “I’ll ask Mrs. Payton to bring out more porridge and tea.”

“No, that won’t be – ” Temeraire began, but it was already too late.

“Porridge?” chirped Arridan, a brown and green dragon with a pair of spiraling horns. “I’d love some porridge.”

“You just ate,” Temeraire retorted.

“I could eat some more.”

“Of course your guests can have some breakfast with us,” Tharkay interjected. In a lower voice, intended just for Laurence and Temeraire’s ears, he added, “That is traditionally how votes are won, is it not?”

It was only then that Temeraire realized – any ferals that took up residence in his borough were eligible to vote, should they be so inclined. Winning a seat wouldn’t be quite as easy as he first believed.


End file.
